The Hunt
by A Keeper
Summary: Q stayed at MI6 to make sure that everything went well with one of the missions and sent Jackie home without him. He returns to find the flat in shambles and Jackie gone. Against his previous desire, he calls upon his brother and his partner to assist Bond and Q in finding her, the question is not if they will find her but if she and her unborn child will be alive when they do
1. Missing

**I'm back! And so is Bond, Jackie, Q and a few other characters... :) I hope you all enjoy and a special thanks to all of you who review/favorite/follow, it means A LOT! Alright, disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. Back to business! This is a more general point of view but from different points in the story. It's a little different from Jackie's 007, but I'm quite certain you'll still enjoy this like you did the last! Without further ado...**

Q sighed as his fingers flew across the keyboard, typing in information that would save quite a few lives so long as he hit them in time. Jackie leaned her arms on his shoulders from behind and rested her chin in the bush that he called his hair. He didn't seem the least bit distracted by her, except when her body language suggested how tired she was, even though she denied it whenever he asked.

With a thankful exhale, he successfully navigated 007 out of the trap he got himself into. His reward, as always, was a kiss on the cheek from Jackie and a well-earned refill of Earl Grey.

She leaned against a vacant desk and pinched the bridge of her nose to help her wake up. He took her hand and smiled, taking in her features; her tired eyes accompanied by her exhausted expression. The constant pinching of her nose suggesting her struggle to remain awake. Leaning against everything for support.

He had noticed that more recently, she was suffering from morning sickness symptoms. She hadn't told him anything yet, but he knew what followed such things.

"Perhaps," He said, pulling her close to him. "You should call a cab and go home."

"I'm fine, you're only going to be staying here for a little while longer anyway." She replied while starring at the load of papers he had to file before leaving. After a yawn from her and a raised eyebrow from him, she added, "Alright, maybe I should go home."

"I'll phone for one. I promise I'll be home by midnight, it shouldn't take me any longer to finish filing." He said and reached for his phone.

She looked to the ground, debating with herself while he dialed the number, holding it to his ear while waiting for the other end to pick up as he typed into the computer again, purchasing plane tickets for Bond to come home. "Q?"

"Hm?" He looked away from the computer to her. He waited patiently, both for her and for the person on the other end to pick up.

"Uh, never mind, I'll tell you later." She said with a smile. He didn't have time to question her, they finally picked up and a cab arrived fifteen minutes later to take Jackie home.

When she got home, she distinctly remembered locking her door. As she had been trained to do by her Dad, she pulled out the gun that was well-hidden in her coat and held it in position, pushing open the door with her foot. She walked in, gun posed towards anything that moved. The flat looked perfectly fine, nothing was touched as far as she could see.

She closed the door (no need to risk having the neighbors involved) and looked around again, there was nothing. Then she realized that they weren't on the floor of the flat, they were on the ceiling. She looked up just in time to see a bag come over her head, feel the gun be ripped out of her hand and smell the knock out gas before she officially fell unconscious.

It was a good thing they had become accustomed for Q staying later than he said. He didn't know why, but he didn't understand why this time he had the looming feeling that he should've gone home with her and file the paperwork tomorrow.

When he got home, it was around two in the morning and he instantly knew something was wrong when the door opened without a problem and it was confirmed when he saw the flat was completely torn apart.

Drawers lay on the floor, their contents strewn all around the room. Books were spread across the room, so poorly treated they would've made Jackie cringe and furniture toppled and carelessly pushed around the room.

He pulled out his phone, without touching anything in the room, and made two calls. One, to his father-in-law, the infamous James Bond, and the other more reluctantly to his brother. "No, I didn't touch any of the bloody crime scene." He took a deep breath, fighting wouldn't help him get Jackie back and no matter how hard he tried, the pain and the hurt of losing her was evident in his voice. "Please, Sherlock," He whispered. "Please help me find her."

There was silence for a long time before there was the reply, "I'll be there soon."

Sherlock arrived in record timing with his partner, John Watson and he immediately set to work. Q leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and buried his head in his hands, allowing the tears to slip from his eyes when no one could see them.

"Quinn, you said that you sent her home around what time?" Sherlock didn't even look up from where he was examining marks on the wall. When he didn't reply, he had no choice but to look at his brother and acknowledge that he was hurting. Not that he would've known what the pain felt like. He only ever was mildly upset when Watson went missing; he didn't know what losing a spouse was like. A brother, sure, a father, yes, but someone who you had to fight for to be bound to? He had no idea what that would be like.

For the first time, Sherlock had to be somebody he had hid from his family in fear that they would be used against him. He had to be the caring older brother for Quinn that he hadn't been since he was in his third year of schooling. He didn't want to risk losing his family because of his hobbies, so he...disowned them. Well, he disowned Mummy and Quinn, he always suspected Mycroft wasn't a true Holmes, but the political genius aspect always messed him up.

He walked over to his baby brother, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder (after a reassuring nod from Watson that told him he was doing the right thing in such circumstances.) "Quinn, we will get her back. If not anything else, I promise that I will get her back to you. The worst that could happen is that we fail miserably and she dies."

Watson rolled his eyes, but Quinn smiled and said, "You always know just what to say."

He offered a lop-sided smile and opened his mouth to say something else, but the door was pushed open and a fairly intimidating man walked in, closing the door behind him with an unmatched fury. "What the hell happened?"

"Bond," Quinn said, cleaning the tears from his eyes, though the stains down his cheeks wasn't as cooperative. "This is my brother, Sherlock Holmes, and his partner, Doctor Watson, they're going to help us find her."

He went on an explosive cursing spree for a while before he finally calmed down and shook their hands. It was a good idea not to tick off the people who are going to help you find your daughter.

"Shall we look around the room?" Watson suggested. There wasn't a reply, everyone went to different parts of the room and tried not to touch much upon Sherlock's request.

After twenty minutes, Bond and Watson went to the other rooms which didn't appear to be disturbed at all. "Q," That was Bond's voice. "Could you come over here?"

He forced himself to walk slow, his mind racing at what his father-in-law could've possibly discovered in the bathroom.

"Did you know about this?"

It was a pregnancy test. It read positive.

Q staggered backwards, sliding down the wall in surprise, eyes never leaving the test that now sat on the sink. Bond had grabbed hold of his arm as if the shock might have been too much. "I'm guessing not."

He shook his head; sure, the news was expected, but it still didn't seem real. He was going to be a _father. _A father to the child that was now put in harms way because he hadn't come home when he should have. "I'm going to be a father." He whispered.

"Bloody hell," Bond murmured, sliding down next to him. "I'm going to be a _grand_father. Maybe I am getting too old for this job."


	2. Half-Brother

**Wow! Sorry it took so long for me to update, I was busy one day and my Muse decided to die when I wanted to write so...I own nothing aside from Baby Holmes and Jackie and other characters that aren't owned otherwise! Enjoy! Please review and thanks to all of the people who have done so already!**

The first thing she was aware of upon coming back to consciousness was how cold the room was wherever she was. The drug must've made her dizzy, but she still had her wits about her and managed to sort out fact from fiction. With a push, she sat up and leaned against the concrete wall, focusing on her breathing as to ignore the questions that would only frustrate her since she did not have the answers.

The door on the other side of the room opened and in walked a strange man, cocky, if nothing else with the sense of air around him that he was superior to everyone. "Ah, Jacqueline Holmes, pleasure to meet your acquaintance."

She didn't let him have the satisfaction of catching her off guard, but this was one of the few times she was truly afraid. He had taken her from her own home and knew her name as well as other information of which she could assume. "And you would be?"

"Jim Moriarty, I'm a friend of your brother-in-law." He replied with a devilish smile. Apparently he enjoyed how much he knew about her and could see through her stubborn guise. "And your father killed my brother with the aid of your husband." Now he became dark and true fear gripped her. His expression was murderous and merciless. She had to be on her guard and watch her words; he didn't seem like someone you messed around with.

"'Your brother?'" She asked, raising an eyebrow as if egging him to continue.

His smirk seemed purely evil and she resisted the instant desire to shrink away and hide. "Yes, my brother. Half-brother, really, on our mother's side. You would know him by reputation: Raoul Silva; I'm quite certain your father has disclosed his encounter with him to you."

She recognized the name instantly and her previous fears and concerns became confirmed. If Moriarty was half the man Silva was, he was extremely dangerous and not to be meddled with. "What do you need me for?"

He laughed, "You, I only need you for the next few months. In all truth, I need the child you bare now." She didn't try to pretend she wasn't surprised that he knew. All in all, she was afraid of how much he knew and loathed the fact that she was at his mercy in such a case. "A child of a Holmes and a Bond has extraordinary potential. I plan to cultivate its abilities."

"And of me?"

Now his smile was just plain creepy as he replied, "That depends on you. I could let you live if you became my right hand and grant you complete access to your child, this option I would prefer, or I could also very likely kill you should you not accept my terms."

She spat in his face as a reply.

He slapped her across her face, throwing her back a foot or two and cutting her across her cheek where his ring had ripped open her flesh. "Do have respect for your superior," He said, straightening his jacket that was ruffled from the brief encounter. "We don't want you to lose your child. If you try to leave, there are electric currents strong enough to render you unconscious and we don't want to risk the child's life for yours, now do we?"

"Maybe I would, how would you know?"

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused at her statement. "One doesn't have to know you inside out to know that you will not risk the life of your child to escape."

And with that, he left.

She never found it appropriate to cry in such situations, even when she felt helpless, she always knew that help would come to her.

This time was different. She didn't have Q in her ear or her father by her side in this situation. She wasn't in the aid of all of Q Branch's genius inventions or had any information given to her from M to help her understand the villain or the task at hand.

This was personal. The villain was targeting her child and her family. She didn't have any way of contacting assistance. It was a trap. If Q and her father failed to help her, all of them would be lost.

This was when she allowed the silent tears to slide down her face, forcing herself to swallow the sobs as they racked her body. She wouldn't show weakness. She couldn't. That would show how vulnerable she was and she couldn't risk that now that she was captive. She couldn't show how truly frightened she was and how truly helpless she was.

The tears said otherwise.


	3. Mission

**Here's recompense for the late previous chapter! I don't own anything that's not mine, but I on the bright side I do own Jackie and Baby Holmes which is the closest I'll get to the real thing! Hope you enjoy this and be sure to tell me if you want something to happen or just like the chapter, I love all forms of reviews even the one word ones and flames. I'll stop boring you to death now, so here you go!**

"Aha!" The sound of triumph brought the them back to reality and they hurried into the living room. Sherlock was bent so close to the wall that one couldn't tell whether or not his nose was touching the wall where a piece of brown food had been wiped across the paint. "Barely traceable, ingenious!" Now his nose was touching the wall and he moved across it horizontally, sniffing loudly as he did so.

"Yep, he's your brother." Bond said, clamping a hand on Q's shoulder. "Leave it to your family to be the most insane, socially awkward geniuses the world has ever seen."

"It's Iodine," He said, indicating to the brown smudge. "The use of Iodine varies from antiseptics and cleaning products to detecting starch in food, turning the food brown or black. And this, this is Molybdenum, it's used in aircraft parts and missiles. Very clever, but he'll have to be better to best me."

"I'm sorry, I'm at a loss." Watson said, holding his arms up as if to surrender.

"I am as well, care to explain, dear brother?" Q asked.

"The original atomic symbol for Iodine was 'J' clearly, and the symbol for Molybdenum is Mo, who does that remind you of, Watson?"

"Jim Moriarty. He's the bastard took your brothers' wife?"

"Not only dear Jacqueline, but her unborn child as well. Moriarty is the only bastard that could've taken her, from all I've heard, seen, and technically illegally viewed, she's not easy to take down." He replied, barely paying any attention to them.

"Where is he?" Q asked.

"I'd say he's at the abandoned fishing factory down by the docks, hence the brown fish smeared on the wall and the hideous odor only known to such an area by the water that involves old and dead marine life."

"I wouldn't try to counter him," Q said, placing an arm on Bond's shoulder when he opened his mouth to respond. "He's usually right."

"Usually? I'm always right, there were just a few circumstances where certain information decided not to be presented to me and my theories had to adjust in order to maintain their correctness." He scolded, not even looking at them as he pressed his cheek to the wall and acting quite peculiarly.

Bond clenched his fists and stepped toward Sherlock, but Q and Watson held him back and murmured reasons why it was stupid to try and attack the strange detective.

Eventually, he consented to reason after being told repeatedly that Sherlock was here to help find Jackie and that his daughter's life was more important than to maul the odd man.

"We better find Jackie." He stated plainly. If they didn't find her, then Q was certain that he would be unable to protect his own brother from a personalized Bond siege.

"Jackie, and Baby Holmes." The detective added. "Now if we're all done chatting, I'd like to try and get her back, thank you very much. Oh, and Bond!" James stopped with his foot halfway out the door. "Do try to stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Thinking, it's quite bothersome."

This was going to be a long rescue mission.


	4. A Game

**Wow, has it really been ****_that_**** long since I posted the previous chapter? That's no good at all! Though I must admit, I've been really busy the past days so it's been kind of hard to remember to post. Here's an offer for you guys and let me know what you think so I know what to do. **

**Let me know if you want there to be a lot of short chapters or a few long chapters? The difference would be that long chapters take longer to write, but short chapters don't give a lot of information. **

**This chapter is for NightlockNox, , and MissGuardianAngel, thanks for reviewing! If you want a chapter dedicated to you, review or give me an idea to play with and most certainly you're name will be here! With that said, let's get on with it, shall we? You've been waiting long enough!**

"How much longer will we play this game?" The question was followed by a sickening slap as the back of Moriarty's hand came in contact with her cheek once more. Her arms and legs were already covered in bruises both fresh and old. He didn't dare touch her belly or anywhere that may impair the child and he wanted the offspring to be perfect. She writhed in pain, a sick feeling sinking in the pit of her stomach that she may vomit if the horrible living conditions and constant beatings whenever she didn't answer a question or misbehaved kept up.

"_Oh, Q," _She thought miserably as she picked herself up and leaned against the wall to show that she wasn't yet broken. _"__Where are you?"_

"Sherlock, where the hell are we?" From the expression of slight confusion and extreme annoyance, they were in the wrong place. He kicked a box that he had wrongly presumed empty and bit back a cry of pain.

"She's not here." He murmured. "They are not here."

"On the contrary, dear fellow, you are right where you need to be." The voice came from the loudspeaker that was laced around the building.

"Evening, Moriarty." Sherlock said, following the wires that went from the speakers to try and pinpoint where the sound room was. "Taken up kidnapping young women, hm? Dreadful bastard you are."

"I'd be careful with my words, Detective, anything you say or do that I don't like will result in extreme pain for Mrs. Holmes and is quite a bad influence on her baby." Q looked at Sherlock who didn't appear to have the slightest intention of heeding the psychopath's warning.

"Now what on Earth do you need lovely Jacqueline for anyhow? She has done nothing wrong and does not deserve the pain you are inflicting upon her. Why not release her and take me instead, hm? You've always wanted to play a game of chess with me on your own firm ground, haven't you?" Q nearly vomited at how sugar-coated his voice seemed. It was almost like Mycroft was in the room with them and was trying to negotiate with the deranged man instead of Sherlock.

"Surprisingly, I'm not after you this time. The thing I want is the spawn of a Bond and a Holmes. You see, Mr. Bond, you are the unfortunate killer of my brother, Silva, I'm quite certain you remember him. I generally don't like to use the term revenge, but I suppose that this is a form of it. You stole my sibling, so I steal your grandchild. Fair enough by any standard."

"You will let my daughter go or so help me I'll-"

He was interrupted by a heart-shattering shriek of pain from a woman. They all winced and Q looked away, closing his eyes as if it would help to block out the sound as he was forced to listen to the cry of anguish from the person he loved. _"__Oh, Jackie, what have I done?"_

"Just what the hell do you plan to do with us now that you have us?" Bond asked, trying hard to ignore the cries as they faded into oblivion but echoed painfully through his mind and appearing in his nightmares for the rest of his life.

"Ah, Mr. Bond, always a pleasure. I plan to keep you away from my captive; such a simple task when all of the fish are in the net. All I have to do is flip a switch and I rid myself of the biggest pain in my side."

"But we both know you won't." Sherlock said, tightening the glove around his wrist. "You like playing our game too much to let me die without a flamboyant twist. If you've gone to all this trouble you've obviously been thinking about me. Are you certain that a trade can not be made, me for Jackie?"

The bitter laugh that followed didn't appear to phase Sherlock, but it did his companions minus Bond. "Again, you think it's all about you. As a reply to your offer, well, let's see what Jackie has to say about that."

Q forced his hands to stay by his side as the scream came back. He closed his eyes once more, but it did no good. Closing his eyes only fueled his wild imagination at what was possibly being done to her as they spoke.

But Sherlock's ears twitched and he was bouncing on the balls of his feet as the cries echoed in his ears. It didn't seem that he was at all upset over the agonizing screams; in fact he seemed...amused. "Did you really think I wouldn't detect that you were using a prerecorded shriek from a film in place of her own?"

He chuckled, "Hm, perhaps I'm losing my touch, nothing a few deaths can't resolve. It's quite humorous really, the three of you concerned over talking to me while I could expertly remove Mr. Holmes and reunite husband to wife. Emotions between people always makes these things so complex and so amusing to watch."

With horror, Sherlock found that will he had been so consumed by his own success, he had neglected the odd muffled sounds as something on the audio. He closed his eyes slowly and sighed deeply. As Jackie had told him once before when Q had found out he was the one who had taken his beloved scrabble mug: he was in deep shit now.

"Well, this will turn out quite interesting if I do say so myself. One does not know how far someone will go to attempt to save someone they love. As of now, I think I'll let the bomb do it's work. It was lovely to see you all again and I offer a fair goodbye."

And with that, the ticking came through the speakers, signifying each dreadful second of their lives that was passing until the end.

"Jackie!" The moment she heard his voice, her heart both soared and sunk. He was here, with her, safe, as far as she could tell. But then again, he was here, with her, safe, for how long?

With his arms wrapped around her tightly, she didn't feel as afraid as she was before. She never felt afraid when he was with her or speaking to her over the comm on missions.

Just being able to bury her face into his shoulder was enough to bring a calm sweep through her body that was violently followed by panic. "What are you doing here?" She cried. "You have to go, I won't let him use you."

"I'm afraid I didn't come here as a result of rescuing you." He murmured hesitantly. He caressed her face between his hands as if to be certain she was really sitting in front of him. "I promise you, I will find a way out of this. We've gotten out of these situations before, we can do it again."

There was a chuckle and Q turned for them both to see Moriarty who had one of the most smug grins dancing across his face, "Well, reunions are always a lovely thing, hm? Ripping other apart is far more interesting, though."

"You will not take me away from my wife, Sir. If you do, I can promise you a punishment to the likes of a upset father who happens to be a Bond." Q spat, pulling Jackie closer to him.

"Oh, no, I don't plan on separating you two like a common criminal. I plan to play a game with you, Mr. Holmes, several games, in fact. If you win the majority of them, like an honest man, I will let you all go free. If you lose, however, I keep your wife and child and dispose of you however I please. You have one hour to think over my terms and then, we'll see what game we shall play."

And with the threat lingering in their ears, he left them with a crooked smile on his face. He had every intention of letting Jackie and Q leave...after she gave birth to the child. Oh, yes, he would let husband and wife leave, but the child was his and his terms did not address the matter that the child would leave with the parents. He would get his heir; one way, or another.


	5. Mistrust

**Yay! New chapter! This chapter is dedicated to the reviewers known as StolenPebbles and the Guest, I appreciate all of your feedback! Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. Now, I would like the fans to be as much apart of this story as possible, so once again, I'm asking for an opinion. *Would you guys like me to do a time jump so we get to see Baby Holmes sooner, or would you rather me keep it as a few days for each chapter?* Please let me know soon so that I know how to make the next chapter fit with what you guys want!**

**On with the show...**

It had taken longer than he had expected to coax Jackie into going to sleep. Q knew that she hated when he played the 'you're pregnant' card to get her to do what he wanted. When she did, the metal door that he assumed was locked like a safe inside a safe at the bottom of the ocean, opened as he had believed it would and in walked the criminal that was destroying his family.

"Have you thought about my offer?" The rummy villain asked as he sauntered into the room as if he would soon rule the world with the help of what had been so cleverly dubbed as "Baby Holmes."

"I've decided to accept your offer, when shall we begin?"

"Well, that was an educational experience."

"I beg your pardon?" Bond wasn't at all happy with the man his son-in-law claimed to be brother. The resemblances were striking—no question as to their relation there—and their genius mental status was too extraordinary to deny; but emotionally, the other Holmes brothers (yes, he was acquainted with Mycroft being in government work) suck at nearly everything. Q was the only one that had a wife or has ever had a successful date. Was the detective really suggesting that getting his own brother kidnapped trying to save his pregnant wife _educational?_

"Mr. Bond, I would like to remind you that hurting him won't do you or anyone else any good, though it's awfully tempting, isn't it?" Watson said with a grin that was laced with worry.

They scurried along the roads, following Sherlock. Bond hated being forced to tail the man he wanted to hurt, but Watson didn't know where they were going and his flat-mate wouldn't say. He had no choice but to remain in the back seat on the rescue mission for his own daughter.

"Ah! Here we are!" Sherlock said as they approached a flat complex. "Watson, if you would not mind, it seems as though my keys have been left behind once more."

With a roll of his eyes, Watson reached into his pocket, pulled out a chain of keys and inserted the right one into the lock to turn it open and invite them into the complex where they promptly went to 221B.

"That bomb was quite interesting, no doubt Q would've gagged at how slowly I had disarmed it, but so long as we come out alive, I don't see why there's a problem." Sherlock said, pacing for a moment before pulling out a violin and strumming wondrous music, though it was somewhat hard to follow.

"What did you use to disarm it?" Bond asked, receiving a glare from the detective who screwed his mouth to the side of his face in distaste. _Honestly,_ He thought. _How does Q put up with a man of such minor intellect on a daily basis?_

"I pulled out the wires from the machine and used a clear, colorless, odorless and tasteless liquid to does any sparks that would have come from it. It wasn't particularly hard, which confirms my suspicions that Moriarty doesn't want us dead, well, doesn't want me dead."

Bond looked to Watson, who was in the kitchen, for a possibly more in depth explanation that was easier to understand than what he knew the alternative explanation was. Nonchalantly, the doctor replied, "He means he used water to short-circuit the wires so an act of explosion wouldn't be fulfilled."

"Right. Now, is there any possible way we can perhaps get my daughter back?" He asked with a deadly ring to his voice. He was done playing around. He had put up with Sherlock for Q's sake and John wasn't a bad man, but he wanted his baby girl back safe and sound and would never let her out of his sight again...so long as she didn't find the new video-cameras and disarm them like she did last time.

"Relax, Moriarty needs to keep Jackie healthy enough physically, mentally, and emotionally for his 'perfect child' to be born and that means that she'll be in good hands for the next few months if it even comes to that. That's why he needs Q. Who better to keep her emotionally and mentally stable than her own husband and father of her child?" Sherlock replied, placing the instrument back neatly into its case and took up burning a trench into the carpet with his pacing since it was quite obvious he would not be given the peace he needed to play and ease his mind.

"A few months isn't a lot of time to find two missing agents that are being held captive by one of the most fearsome criminals of today. We need to find them soon, or Moriarty is going to play them right into his hands."

* * *

"Scrabble?"

"Would you prefer Mahjong?"

"Nope, Scrabble's perfectly fine."

Q had been expecting some mastermind game that one could easily cheat at and force him to lose no matter how well he played; but this was Scrabble. He'd been playing it all his life, it was the only game he had beaten Sherlock at. After his first defeat, his older brother had given him the Scrabble mug he held so dearly after he had painstakingly won his first game by three points.

He was on his guard though; it wouldn't do well to get comfortable with the man that was holding them hostage. This was a game for their freedom and he couldn't afford to screw it up.

"Care to go first?" Moriarty's voice made him cringe, but he put on a face of bravado that would've made Jackie proud; but he was certain if she knew what he needed it for, she would've been ashamed.

He looked over his tiles and thought; it didn't seem there was much he could do with two O's an R, D, N, T, and an A. He hid the satisfying grin as he placed all of his tiles on the board to spell DONATOR.

"I see you are quite a Scrabble player. Well done, I'll have to make up some ground." He said with an devil-like smile as he played DAIRY on the 'D' from his own.

It went on for a good hour, word after word with the tension never leaving. Moriarty was acting strange, being oddly polite and offering conversation, though it was more one-sided seeing as Q wasn't in the mood. Or, he wasn't in the mood, until the deranged kidnapper brought up a rather touchy subject.

"You are married to Jackie, hm?" He asked, seemingly nonchalantly as he played the word 'DOOM.'

He cast the man a suspicious look and instantly became defensive. "That's quite obvious isn't it? There's a reason I am here, a reason I wear a ring on my ring-finger and a reason there's a child in her at the moment."

"Are you certain?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow that made it difficult to resist squirming under his sight. "Are you _quite_ certain that you are the father of her child? Or did you simply take your word for it. And, as I recall, is it not regulation that all employees of MI6 not truly marry? That they could go through the marriage process, yet, legally, they were never married to begin with?"

Q could feel the heat rise and his face turn red upon realization that he knew _everything. _The dark, satisfied grin upon his face only proved that what he said was the truth.

Upon Jackie's insistence, they had gone through the marital process at a church as any other couple, but legally, their marriage wasn't real. This was to avoid any possible legal issues that would dig around the work that a couple had participated in. Did Jackie hate him for not breaking the rules and marrying officially? No, she was better than that...wasn't she? Maybe she wasn't...

_No!_ He thought. _Don't listen to him! How would he know more about your wife than you? _But there was still doubt within him.

The game continued in silence as Q went back and forth with himself, now completely unsure about Jackie, and in extension, completely unsure whether or not the child she carried was his. Sometimes, after work, she wouldn't come home for hours and when she did, she wouldn't tell him where she was. At the time, he never thought anything of it, but now...

Maybe she was with someone else.

* * *

Jackie woke a few minutes after she felt his touch leave her. She was so accustomed to him by her side, holding her close, willing to protect her even though she was more capable of fighting if it came to such. It just felt strange and foreboding without him there to keep all of the evil things of the world away.

She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep.

For the longest of time since she started working for MI6, there was an abundance of nightmares. She used to call Dad when they were really bad—there was no form of relief better than the understanding of a parent—but most of the calls went to Q. Those calls where she was sobbing, her words incoherent to anyone other than her father and Q. Those calls that ended up with him driving to her flat no matter how late or early it was, comforting her until she fell asleep in his arms and they stayed that way until morning. There were several occasions where he had stayed at the office, like that night that seemed like ages ago where he had called the cab while she was struggling to try and tell him she was pregnant.

On those occasions, she always had nightmares and never slept soundly until he was back with her. He knew that; it was why they usually always went home together. He knew that he kept her nightmares away and he worked his schedule to accompany it.

The nightmares had come back the moment his touch left her. She sat up and against the wall, wiped the tears that fell from her eyes and did everything she could to keep the dark dreams away.

Two hours later, Q came back.

"Where have you been?" She cried, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him tight so he would not slip away again. It felt reassuring to have his arms around her, holding her with just as much ferocity as she was him; though she couldn't help but notice how reluctantly this had come. Like something was making him reconsider. "I was so worried, I didn't know where you were or if you were even alive, I-"

"Jackie, all of that doesn't matter. I'm here, now, and that should be enough." He replied, a plain expression on his face without even a hint of guilt for leaving her when he was aware she wouldn't be able to sleep.

"What's wrong?" She whispered, framing his face with her hands. There was something behind his glasses and eyes that told her more than words could. "Tell me, what's bothering you?"

He opened his mouth, but words didn't want to come out. He pulled away from her and turned, so he wouldn't have to see her as he spoke, and said, "Is it mine?"

"What?"

He spun back around to face her so violently that she had to use all of her strength not to fall back. He had an apologetic expression, and his voice quivered at the sight of fear in her eyes—fear generated from him. "Is. It. Mine?"

There were tears now; they came from confusion at his anger and uncertainty at what she had done to cause it. "The baby? You're wondering whether or not the baby is yours? Of course it is! What gave you cause to believe otherwise?"

"Because you're not always at home." He replied, his few moments of true bravery withering slowly as he starred into the frightened eyes of his wife. The woman who should be his wife. "Sometimes you're off doing God knows what with God knows who and I don't think I'm good enough."

The last words came slowly; the truth finally came out.

She shook her head with a smile of anxiety and replied, "I leave on those nights to go on missions assigned by M personally under threat that if I tell you, they will make you disappear, no matter how valuable you are to them. I couldn't tell you. I can't believe you thought I would be so selfish."

"I know, I know! I'm sorry, he got to me. He got under my skin and convinced me that you were something you aren't. I'm sorry."

Now her smile was genuine, though the tears that glittered in her eyes made it less effective. They became content with laying on the futon that was in the corner when they had arrived, holding each other closer than ever before.

As sleep was taking him; Q came to the silent conclusion that he would tell her everything tomorrow—including the scrabble game against Moriarty, of which, he had won.


	6. No One Coming

**I feel an ending coming within the next four or five chapters! :( I don't own anything that isn't mine!**

**IMPORTANT: Jackie and Q are having a baby, (no duh) and I want YOU (the fans) to pick it's gender! Go on to my page and click on the poll section (if this doens't work, PM me if you want or just check later) so you can vote as to what the baby will be! I already have names I'm pretty sure you guys will love but if you have any suggestions, please PM me because I take everything into consideration!**

**This chapter is kind of short, so I'll be posting the next chapter in a few minutes...literally. Enjoy!**

It had been a month.

Jackie had been keeping track of the days. One month ago, she had been taken hostage by Moriarty and in a few days time, it would reach one month from the day Q had been taken as well.

"It shouldn't be taking this long." She whispered. She was leaning against a table with her arms crossed where she nestled her head into a comfortable position.

"Moriarty is more cunning than we expected."

It still didn't feel right to have him with her. She would have preferred it be just her in such dangerous matters, but this time, she didn't have a choice.

"Quinn," She hesitated, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to see the look in his eyes. The look he always had when she said his real name. The look that showed his worry because he knew something was relentlessly bothering her and he didn't like it. Her voice was scarcely above a whisper, "What if they don't come?"

"You don't honestly believe that." He said. She couldn't see him from where she was absently starring into space, but she knew he was shaking his head—he had considered it, too. "Do you?"

"I'm not sure; all I do know is that it's been a month and we have not heard so much as gust of wind from the outside world. As much as I love my father...Quinn, I don't think they're coming for us."

She waited for him to say something—anything—that would counteract what she had said, but to her surprise, there was only a sigh of consent. No one was coming for them. They were on their own.

* * *

"Excuse me, _sir?_"

Sherlock wasn't sure what terrified Watson more; the stubborn M, or the pissed off Bond.

The tone Bond used to address the leader of MI6 sent shivers down the doctor's spine, and each word felt like a dagger through the air—even to him.

Though, even he had to admit that it was becoming quite ridiculous that they were unable to locate either Jackie or Q after being given so long a time. The result was that they'd go to M for help, since both of those who were missing worked at the facility. They all thought it would be reasonable for them to request additional help from MI6. Apparently, M felt differently...

"I said: 'I will not risk my people to save those who can save themselves.'" He replied, his hands firmly on his desk with a determined look set into his face.

"Are you deaf!" Bond cried, his hands also on the desk and equal determination on his face. "That's my daughter we're talking about, my _pregnant_ daughter, one of _your _agents. Even if it didn't have to deal with her, there's still Q! He is vital to MI6, you at least have to-"

"No one wants to admit defeat, Bond!" He exclaimed over the other man's shout, fearing, in the slightest, for his own life. "No one wants to admit that even people like Jackie and Q are not irreplaceable, especially to their family. But in truth, they can be. Maybe it's time for you to accept that Jackie and Q are most likely dead."

"They can't be; Moriarty said that he needed the baby-"

"Would you really trust the word of the man that was holding them hostage?" The room had grown so silent, hearing a pin drop would be sound like an avalanche.

"You're not telling us something, sir, I would appreciate it if all secrets are shared." Sherlock finally spoke up. For the first time any of the men in that room had seen, his face was softened with emotion and his eyes were glazed with defeat, like he knew what they did not and could not bring himself to say it. This didn't seem good.

"That fishing factory you three went in a few days ago—it was burned to the ground last night." M pulled a folder out of a file cabinet and placed it at the end of his desk. With shaky hands, Bond took the folder and opened it for them all to see. "Two bodies were found; the autopsy and examinations told us that they were male and female, the female no more than four months pregnant."

M had never seen Bond cry. Not from a physical injury, not from a mental injury, not from any injury. But he was sure as hell crying now.

The folder was lying tossed aside and Bond had walked to the wall, punching it with such strong force that most of the paintings around the room fell, the dry wall shattered like glass, and his knuckles bled. He covered his face with his uninjured hand and silently sobbed.

Sherlock had no expression on his face, but a single tear that rolled down his cheek. He kept telling himself he was being ridiculous. That there was no need for lamenting over this because he had never really shared a strong bond with his brother. This, of course, was a lie; and he knew it. Instead, he told that stupid voice of reason to shut the hell up and let him grieve. He loved his brother, was that so hard for him to conclude? Quinn was the only person that he had really felt connected to, aside from Watson. Why did the bond of brothers in their family always seem so thin?

"Were they identified?"

It was strange, hearing Watson's voice appear so strong, but nonetheless it was he who had spoken up when the others could not.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Were the bodies identified?" He repeated. Watson knew he wasn't the brightest man of their group of three, (in fact, he was probably the dullest) but he came there without baring any special ties to Jackie or Q, which meant he could question everything without being heartbroken.

The hesitant reply only confirmed his suspicions. "No."

"Then we still have hope." He stated plainly, standing to properly button up his coat. "Now, shall I be the only person searching for them or would you two like to come along?"

Bond cast a death glare at M that would've made—how would the Americans say?-Batman proud.

Sherlock stood, but said nothing and left hurriedly without another word to any of them.

On the car ride back to the flat, he remained quiet still, pondering and sorting through everything when it finally struck him. He knew what Moriarty was doing, and he would have to stay on his feet for the next few months if he planned on finding them at the right location.

But John and Bond can't know this.

They can't, because it would mean the King would have to start playing pieces—and losing them as well.

Pieces moved; therefore Jackie and Q would likely be moved to different locations. All he had to do was pinpoint them and try not to interfere for the next few months. He had to pretend he thought his brother and sister-in-law were dead. This wasn't going to be as easy as he thought.


	7. The Last Exploding Pen

**I told you I would post it in a minute! This chapter I'm not particularly proud of, but I think it works. Sorry for all of you who wanted it to go day by day, I just didn't have enough stuff to write about for that and I'm itching to post a new Bond story I finished a while ago but I can't until this is done! I don't own anything that isn't mine (I don't have to say that for every chapter, do I?" **

**REMEMBER TO VOTE FOR THE GENDER!**

**This chapter is for LilyLunaPotter142 and for all those who reviewed so far! Enjoy!**

_Five Months Later_

"_Where. Is. He?"_

It's needless to say that Watson struggled not to shrink back in terror as the furious James Bond plowed past him and into the living room where Sherlock sat, completely oblivious to his surroundings.

"If you attempt to hurt me, we may not get as efficient a rescue plan as is required." Sherlock murmured, not even pulling his gaze from the oblivion in which he was starring into.

"Right now, I don't give a rat's ass about what you can do. Jackie is less than a week from her due date and if she gives birth, the bastard no longer has reason to keep her or Q alive."

"Haven't you noticed, Mr. Bond?" He asked, finally giving the agent who had steam coming from his ears his attention. "This is all a game."

"I haven't noticed a bloody thing!" He cried, grabbing him by his shirt collar and pinning him to the wall. "Now, you will tell me _exactly_ what you have come up with or so help me I will pulverize you into an unrecognizable pulp."

Sherlock remained strangely calm under a threat that he was quite prepared to carry out. John just starred at them and hoped it wouldn't come to that, though if it did, he wasn't sure whether he'd help Bond or phone for an ambulance.

"Have you not noticed the game like settings? Imagine this: a massive chess board with our family as the pieces. Who would be the King?" He questioned.

"Jackie?" Bond replied instantly. He wasn't in the mood to play games, if he got the question wrong, Sherlock would no doubt relish the opportunity to correct him and explain thoroughly what the right response was.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and swallowed the groan that was prepared to escape him. Was this man really so dull? He probably shouldn't find out—he was just threatened. "If she was the King, we would have lost." He explained plainly. "No, _you_ are the King, Mr. Bond. Moriarty is after _you_ because you took his Queen, his brother, Raoul Silva. In return, he claimed your Queen and Rook, prepared to restore his Queen with the child, forcing the game to appear to be in his favor. However, he neglected that we have one special piece that has yet to play."

"And what's that?"

Sherlock had a deranged look in his eyes that confirmed for the hundredth time that he was mad. "Who says a King can't check-mate a King?"

* * *

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no!_

Q was playing his last game with Moriarty to determine whether or not they may leave the place that had been made their home for the past few months.

They had played hundreds of games that would appear so childish to anyone else—well, aside from the fact that playing those games represented their lives.

At first, Q had been dominating, but in recent months, Moriarty has come back to a tie. It was today where they had agreed to end it all.

Only a few days ago did she realize that Moriarty's contract only signified the liberation of Q and herself...but not their baby. When she told this information to Q, they had come to the conclusion that they would have to end this feud before the baby was born—therefore he wouldn't get the child.

Apparently, she had inherited her father's luck.

She closed her eyes in horror as wave after wave of pure pain she had never felt before racked her body endlessly. The worst part was that she couldn't show it.

Everything she felt had to be covered up as if she was perfectly fine, waiting to hear whether or not she and her husband would live.

This baby wanted to come, though.

The temptation to scream and let the child be born into the world was far greater than she had expected, but she had to be strong.

Desperately, she wondered if she would live after this. She wondered about what Dad would think; how he would react to her death and the child. He'd probably search every corner of the Earth for Moriarty and not lose any sleep over killing him. Whenever Dad was ticked off during a mission and took it out on the people he was fighting, Q used to mutter into her comm, "Hell hath no fury like a Bond scorned." Q. Quinn.

What would he think?

What would he do?

A single father taking care of a child while working as a secret agent for MI6? He wouldn't survive.

An explosion interrupted her thoughts. 

"I'm surprised," Sherlock said as he starred up at the sign that read 'ENTRANCE' which was missing the 'C.' It was for an old factory that used to make wood pieces for nearly anything from furniture to toys—including the pieces for chess boards. Sherlock had found traces of a polish that was slightly dusty from age but still traceable to its original user after he had saved their lives from the bomb in the last factory. "I imagined he'd go with something a little more classy than another abandoned factory."

Bond rolled his eyes—he had a hard time believing that Sherlock Holmes knew what class was. Instead, he changed the subject to the rather important matter at hand. "You're quite certain this is the place? I'm not going to use my last exploding pen on a decoy, right?"

"No sir, if you would like me to run through the facts again, I'd-"

"NO!" Both Bond and Watson exclaimed simultaneously. They had heard enough explanations from him. Without another word, Bond clicked the pen three times and threw it, which promptly exploded upon impact. For a brief moment, there was the unmistakable terrifying sound of metal and wood crashing down before the dust cleared and they were able to take a look inside one of the larger and more recently used sections of the factory.

There was relief when Bond found Jackie, unscathed by the damage the pen had caused, though she wasn't exactly in the best of conditions.

"Hi, Dad," She murmured, grimacing as another contraction hit her body like a brick wall. "Always knew you'd come."

He wanted desperately to stick by her side and help her, but not only would that be awkward, Sherlock needed his help finding Q, who was nowhere to be found. "Watson," He called, instantly springing the man to his side. "You're a doctor, aren't you? Well, uh, do your thing." With a reassuring pat on his back and a kiss on Jackie's forehead, he ran down the corridor with Sherlock.

"Mr. Watson," Jackie whispered as she gripped onto the side of the bed. "I really hope you know what you're doing."


	8. Unconscious

**The end is almost here! I'm thankful for all of you who voted, all of you who commented, and especially all of you who stuck through reading this when I thought people wouldn't like it at all! I own nothing, enjoy!**

Two moves. One promised victory and liberation. The other guaranteed death. The problem was, Q didn't know which was which.

Moriarty looked at him expectantly, a triumphant grin already plastered across his face—like he knew he would chose the wrong piece.

Shakily, he reached out to move a bishop that may give him life or death...

But he was interrupted when he heard an explosion.

The room shook and the pieces of the game were violently thrown off. Moriarty stood, but held his hands firmly against the table to keep himself steady. Q hadn't realized that he had fallen off his chair (from surprise more than the force) until the very man that was minutes from murdering him extended his hand and helped him to stand.

"Well," Moriarty said, straightening his jacket that had become slightly ruffled. "That certainly puts a damper on our festivities, doesn't it?"

Q didn't respond; in all honesty, he hadn't really heard the question. His only thoughts were that of Jackie and whether or not she was alright as he stood there as fine as a newborn...

_A newborn!_

In all the brain power required to compete with Jim Moriarty, he had entirely forgotten that his wife was going to give birth within the next few days. A child that may not be living any longer.

He was snapped back into the moment when the sound of doors slamming became a symphony in his ears. Someone was coming; and they didn't sound happy.

Instinctively, Q stepped away from his kidnapper and closer towards the door. His paralyzed mind hadn't deciphered what the strange 'click' that had come from inside the evil man's coat was until the door opened.

There wasn't enough time for his mind to process what he was doing; which made it an act of heart that propelled him to hurl himself at the first person who walked through the door—who happened to be Sherlock—and push him out of the way, claiming the bullet for himself on his right side.

Q had seldom dealt with a situation where he was at physical risk, and when such happened, he usually had even slimmer chances of actually being hurt. He had never taken a bullet before, and concluded through the clouds and waves of pain that it wasn't something he would unnecessarily do again.

This time, force did knock him to the ground, or rather, against his father-in-law, and then onto the ground.

For a moment, Bond starred at him, simply surprised that he could carry out such an act of valor. It was when, clutching his wound and clenching his teeth to numb the pain, he managed to grunt, "I would be very grateful if you helped me up."

He didn't need to be told twice.

Sherlock didn't seem to be taking his brother getting shot real well. Through blurred vision, he was able to see that Moriarty wasn't getting off easy. In fact, Q had never seen the Great Sherlock Holmes become so brutal in a fist fight—which he usually tried to avoid.

"Sherlock," He called, wincing as even trying to raise his voice caused him discomfort. At least it got his undivided attention and stopped his already bloodied fist mid-punch. "Come on, he's not worth it."

Reluctantly, the detective lowered the barely conscious man to the ground where he grinned, blood from a broken nose rolling down his lips and chin. "Well played," He muttered, sounding slightly like a British chipmunk. "Too bad I've always been a sore loser." He pulled out a detonator and hit the button. "You have five minutes."

Running was never something Q was particularly fond of; but he gained even more disrespect for it when each and every step he took caused a sharp pain to shoot through his body. At first, his pride objected to Bond carrying him, however, he soon agreed to reason after he concluded he was slowing them down and risking their lives.

The last thing he remembered was Bond holding him and a bright light flashing as they reached a door that would, hopefully, take them to outside.

* * *

"That's it, you're doing fine. Easy, take it easy. There's no need to strain yourself, you're only-"

"Giving birth in the place I've lived in for the past six months after being kidnapped." Jackie said, as quick as she could before she bit her tongue to hold back the scream.

She felt bad for the poor doctor, who had offered to hold her hand. When she was in pain, she tended to grip, and the closest thing to what she was feeling then was a stroll through hell.

"Have you ever delivered a baby before?" She asked, closing her eyes and biting her lip while trying hard to listen to his voice and cooperate with what he was telling her to do.

"Well, I..." He didn't finish the sentence. Part of her knew it was because it was time for the baby to official come into the world, but the other part suggested that this was a first for both of them.

Finally, she laid her head back into the pillows and closed her eyes, perfectly fine with falling asleep then and there.

"I trust you picked out a name?" Watson said, wrapping the child in a makeshift bundle from the blankets on the futon.

She smiled and nodded; it wasn't exactly the best of times for them to share a heart to heart on baby names.

Her senses instantly perked when she saw Sherlock running towards them, true, mortal fear on his face as he said, "We have to go, now."

Watson instantly jumped to leave, but Jackie was more slow. Giving birth didn't help if you planned to run a few moments later. Sherlock took hold of her, and eventually picked her up, allowing her to rest her weary head on his shoulder as he ran through the halls of the trembling building.

She tried hard to ignore the blood on his knuckles, but her attention kept being drawn to it. "Where's Q?" She asked. "Is he alright? Is Dad alright as well?"

"He's fine," Sherlock replied instantly. "They're both fine, try not to strain yourself, Jackie. Q would hang me if my questions are the reason you're half-dead."

She snorted and found it curious that he wanted her to let him keep his mouth shut, but she said nothing. Someone telling her to get some rest wasn't something she wanted to argue with—unless, of course, it was a sexist or prejudicial comment about how women couldn't do something because of their gender or their maternity status.

She closed her eyes and allowed the unsteady beat of Sherlock's heart draw her to sleep as smoke began to fill her nose.


	9. A True Holmes

**Alas, this is the end! :( I don't really have any plans to write anything else after I post Babysitting, but if you guys want to give me any ideas as to what I should write, I'll gladly accept them and will more likely than not do them! This is dedicated to all of you fans who reviewed but mostly to LilyLunaPotter142 because she's (she, right?) given me a bunch of support and I really love the name! I only own what's mine!**

**If you like Jackie, Baby Holmes, and Q, let me know! Who knows? Maybe I'll come up with another plot with them. On with the final Act of The Hunt!**

Q woke with what must've been the worst hangover-like symptoms ever. Everything seemed so much brighter, so much louder, and so much more chaotic.

Nervous to the kind of damage such bright light could do to his eyes he enjoyed the caress of someone's delicate hand on the side of his face. Whoever it was was so gentle; they had the delicacy of his own mother.

His ears awoke to the sound of murmurs and whispers from voices he recognized and held dear, hearing the familiar sound of a Holmes and a Bond bicker was quite reassuring and brought a full smile to his face.

What surprised him the most was the voice of his wife, who spoke to no one he was officially acquainted with, "Look, Danielle, this is your father."

And with that, his eyes burst open.

After adjusting to the lights, the first thing he saw was Jackie's smiling face as she lifted one of her arms for him to see the face of his daughter.

She had a thin layer of dark hair upon her head that she had no doubt gained from him and blue eyes that looked like he was staring into the face of yet another determined Bond. She looked at him with such curiosity, such thirst to know who they were and what they were like. A true Holmes.

He reached up, slipping a finger into her tiny fist and smiling as she gazed at the contact in wonder. "Where's Sherlock and Bond?" He asked, his eyes never leaving the child.

"Sherlock's sleeping off the sedatives in the next room; he wasn't exactly cooperative when they asked him to leave so they could take the bullet out of you, Mr. Watson is with him now. Dad's just outside, he had been with your brother, but came to the conclusion that separation was better didn't want to come in until you were awake."

"What's her full name?" He asked, pushing himself up until he eased into a comfortable sitting position to take his daughter.

"Danielle Marie Holmes." She replied with a motherly smile as she watched him play with her small fingers. "Our mothers names, just like we agreed."

The door opened and they looked up to see Bond enter with a fidgety Sherlock and weary Watson following close behind. "I thought I heard voices." Bond said with a grin.

"How does it feel to be a grandfather?" Q asked, a wry smile on his face.

The grin changed to an annoyed curve of the lip as he replied, "We're _not _bringing that up."

A nurse came in requesting that Jackie step out for a moment to do some testing to make sure that she was alright to be released within the next few hours and Bond, being paranoid from their recent encounter, went with her to ensure nothing happened.

Sherlock took up a seat beside his brother and gazed down at his niece who was still looking around the room of faces that she would quite soon learn to love.

"What happened to Moriarty?" Q asked, his expression turning grim. He didn't care how joyful the moment was supposed to be; he would sleep better knowing that he was taken care of.

"No body was found. He escaped, but rest assured that I won't stop until I find him." Sherlock murmured.

Q chuckled, "I don't think that's necessary. Jackie's not pregnant anymore, she'll use that as getting off the leash and take care of him if he comes after us again. Besides, now Bond is going to be looking after us—he doesn't take something like his daughter being kidnapped lightly. We'll be finding probes for the next year all over our furniture and clothes."

"It will be quite amusing to see what happens when Mr. Bond babysits for you." Sherlock swallowed a groan for Q's sake as they looked up, once again, towards the door where Mycroft was leaning against the door frame.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, ignoring the half-glare his bed-ridden brother sent him.

"Coming to see my niece, what, you don't think I'd know when I become an Uncle?"

"I don't doubt your knowledge of her birth, just the heart to come see her."

"Alright, enough!" They looked at Q who used the volume only reserved for ending arguments between Sherlock and Mycroft. "She just fell asleep and I'd appreciate if you keep it that way. You're lucky Jackie isn't here, she knows how to end a quarrel with Bond, which is no small feat."

"Actually, I came for advice, from our little brother." Mycroft said, apparently deciding for the time being that Q was not there and Sherlock was the only man he cared to talk to. "Seeing as he _is _the only Holmes brother who managed to not only have a successful date, but get married and have a child."

"Because I could offer _great_ advice on dating. You know our first date was at a museum and I hacked the system to get good seats for a movie on the information era, right?"

Mycroft pulled out a pad and pencil and began to take notes.

Sherlock did what Jackie had so originally dubbed a 'face-palm.' He massaged his temples for a few moments before asking to be excused and locked himself in the bathroom until the oldest brother left.

Watson simply stood there and chuckled to himself as Q told Mycroft of the many dates he and Jackie had gone on—adding precisely how they went wrong and how they got out of them. Trouble just seemed to naturally follow them around.

"Where was your first kiss?" Mycroft asked nonchalantly. The question wasn't exactly surprising, thought that didn't make answering it without a full-fledged blush any easier.

"Outside a broom closet after I convinced her not to hurt M."

"How romantic."

"I think that's enough story telling for one night." Jackie was smiling upon returning to those fond memories that seemed to be another lifetime ago. Sherlock stood and offered her his seat, which she thankfully took. "The nurse is going to come within the next half hour to take Danielle to the nursery and visitor hours are ending."

Mycroft thanked him for the information and left quickly, apparently having somewhere else to be. Jackie took Danielle and followed his lead ten minutes later. Watson left instantly when the nurse said the visitor hours were up, but Sherlock had to be—shall we say—cajoled. Physically. Before he passed out from yet another sedate, he promised to come back as soon as it was allowed.

Q closed his eyes, a smile upon his lips as he recalled those who had been with him that day. His family. His brothers, along with their friend, his father-in-law, and most importantly, his wife and daughter.

Never before had so many members of his family been under the same roof. Due to the incident, they had grown closer together. Maybe, just maybe, Sherlock and Mycroft would get along at Christmas.

He concluded a moment later that it was the drugs talking.

* * *

His arm was wrapped protectively around Jackie, holding her close to him through out the night and never once letting go. She was close enough for him to smell the lilac scent that seemed to have permanently established itself into her hair; not that he was complaining.

He sighed when the unmistakable sound of the bedroom door opening reached his ears. His immediate response to the noise was that he try to ignore it, perhaps they would see him asleep and decide to come back later. But he knew better than that.

"Daddy," Came the small voice he recognized as his daughter's. "Come on, Dad, you promised you'd teach me how to build a radio transmitter today!"

He didn't move an inch. Neither did Jackie, but as Danielle continued to complain about how slow he was, she whispered, "I believe she's talking to you."

He opened his eyes and glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand, groaning at how early Danielle had woken so she learn to build a silly radio transmitter. "Before eight, she's your daughter."

His response was a low growl, which meant she was in no mood to be messed with. He sat up slowly and said in his gruff morning voice, "Alright, alright, I'm up! Go gather all the pieces and I'll come out in a few moments."

"Hurray!" Despite being a four-year-old sounding like an eight-year-old, she still had childish mannerisms that he sometimes wished would linger rather than be overtaken by her unfailing logic and admirable determination.

He took his glasses off the table and squared them onto his face, not even bothering to change into his regular clothes and receiving a giggle from his daughter when she saw him wearing striped pajamas.

With a faint smile, he ruffled her hair and sat across from her wear she had set out all of the pieces and waited patiently for instruction. In the cloud of morning, he vaguely remembered telling Bond that he could do more damage than he on his laptop in his pajamas. He was quite certain that his toddler could do worse damage.

"Mummy says Uncle Sherlock is going to stop by today." She said, putting the pieces together without realizing that he had stopped telling her what to do.

"Wonderful, and what is the reason for his visit?" He asked with a growing smile as he watched her fingers dance around the parts like a rehearsed waltz.

"He wanted to borrow some equipment for one of his experiments. She said that he blew up his own." She didn't even glance up to reply, but he didn't mind at all.

"Of course he did. I guess I better go hide that equipment, huh?" Her giggle was enough to make his day as he stood and searched the drawers in the kitchen for the machinery he knew was desired by his brother. He didn't think Sherlock would think to look in the cereal box.

"I did it!" She exclaimed and ran to him to proudly display the small radio.

"Well done, my dear!" He cried, picking her up and spinning around, much to her delight. "You're a true Holmes!"


End file.
